


Requiem for a Keeper

by Kylenne



Series: This Warden's Work [2]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Gen, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-18
Updated: 2013-08-18
Packaged: 2017-12-23 20:53:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/930983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kylenne/pseuds/Kylenne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With a centuries-old curse lifted, and peace between two peoples made, a Grey Warden and her companions perform one last task for the Dalish.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Requiem for a Keeper

Silence filled the cavernous chamber like a tomb, and Gisele Surana wept.

She knelt upon the stones, bent over his lifeless body, her soft hands stroking his clean-shaven head. There was so much pain and so much misery etched upon the faded lines of vallaslin on his face, but it was gone when the final breath passed from his lips.

What remained was the serenity that only comes with death, with redemption and release. Still, Gisele wept: for all that had been, for all that was lost. For the children he would find again beyond the Veil, and for those he left behind.

She wept, too, for the Lady, in all Her timeless beauty and aching sorrow. Gisele wept dearly for Her.

They remained back at a respectful distance, her beloved companions, perhaps allowing her the space she needed to grieve in her own way. But at last Alistair came forward, kneeling beside her, and took her into his arms, so strong and tender, so full of compassion and love.

"It’s alright," he whispered, and she set Zathrian down, and clung to Alistair’s armor, her damp cheek cool against the steel of his body.

"I know," she sighed, resting her nose in his neck.

She felt Zevran’s hand upon her back. “We should leave this place, mi amor. Perhaps to let the dead rest at last,” he said softly.

Gisele knew he was right, pragmatic as he always was. But this place had forever changed her, in so many ways. Perhaps that, too, was why she wept. Sacred memories were entrusted to her here, knowledge and a manner of healing too. Part of her wanted to remain here, for what reason she did not know. It called to her blood, her very soul. So many questions remained, so much to process.

But she was a Grey Warden, and in that moment of time, it meant more to her than “elf” or “mage”. Gisele had a duty to carry out, and she would see it through. Lanaya must honor the treaty, and the Dalish must answer the call. Above all else that had transpired in that forest, this was the most important thing, and Gisele could not lose sight of that.

"We can’t leave him here," Leliana said, kneeling opposite her. "We shouldn’t. He was their leader, and their elder, and he should be honored as such, not left to rot in a ruin. It’s only right."

Gisele pulled away from Alistair, nodding. “Yes, of course,” she said, when the tears ceased. “But I don’t—I don’t know what they do when someone dies. Mother never—I don’t know.”

Still an outsider, still so ignorant. Even after everything that happened, she still had one foot in the Alienage and one foot in the Circle Tower, her Dalish heritage as distant and unknowable as it had ever been to her. Gisele fought back a fresh wave of tears as she clenched her fists in frustration.

"It’s alright, love," Alistair said. "You don’t have to know. We’ll take him back to the clan, and they can take care of him." He kissed the top of her head, and helped her to her feet. "Come on, there’s plenty of branches and things here. We can make something."

They worked quickly and efficiently, as they always did together: gathering fallen branches, lashing thick, severed vines into ropes and tying the wood together securely, they fashioned a makeshift litter. Alistair carefully lifted Zathrian’s body upon it. Gisele retrieved his discarded staff from the ground, a twisted branch of wood, and rested it beside him.

"Let’s go then," Leliana said. "Let’s take him home."

Each of them took up a rung, sharing the burden among each other, and they made a solemn procession out of the lair. Passing strange perhaps that a Dalish Keeper would have these most unlikely of pallbearers, but Gisele found it strangely fitting. It was bigotry and violence by humans against elvenkind that hardened Zathrian’s heart and began the cycle of hatred that birthed the curse and all the suffering that followed. And the cycle ended with humans and elves who found each other in love and friendship. Two humans, including the son of a king; two elves, both misbegotten children of the Dales and the city, united in common purpose, to return this elder to his people.

Leliana might say it was the Maker’s hand. Perhaps it was the Creators. Whether it were true or not, Gisele could not say. She could only help in her way, taking each step along side them, bearing her love and her pride and her sorrow with Zathrian.

The four of them carried Zathrian’s litter out of the ruins in a respectful silence, out of the darkness, and returned him to his people. And as they emerged from the forest, Gisele felt a faint rustling of leaves, a warm breeze through the trees in the Dalish camp, a sigh upon the wind and a shimmering luminescence upon the golden horizon.

A whispered farewell, perhaps, given in love. Gisele felt Her hand at work, and smiled.


End file.
